


Settle, Damp and Heavy

by Bloodsbane



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Cannibalism, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gen, Monster Martin Blackwood, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:35:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25966729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodsbane/pseuds/Bloodsbane
Summary: There was no chance that Peter would let Martin go, of course. Martin could feel it in himself that he was full of fog, unless he did something to get it out, burn it out of his body like an infection. But his blood felt like nothing. Compared to the absolute cold of his skin, Peter’s breathe felt like fire. The flesh of his cheek, when Martin touched it, seemed feverish.Burn it out.If Peter left, Martin would be alone. He didn’t want to be alone — he couldn’t be alone. Jon was not here. Jon would be alone, too, if Martin was gone. He already was… Martin could feel it, sometimes, could taste his friends when they wandered in the institute, aimless as the drifting fog. It tasted bittersweet and addictive and he’d hated it and even the memory of it was enough to inspire him; he wanted to taste something else.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 37





	Settle, Damp and Heavy

**Author's Note:**

> listen... i just feel like... martin deserves a treat

Martin doesn’t remember how or when he got here. He’d been somewhere else... His house? No, no, he never goes there anymore… The office? His desk, maybe, working on something. He’d been thinking about… **  
**

...Peter was here, too, and so was the fog. All around them both, like clouds, slowly crawling. Peter, standing not quite so far off, his form sturdy and dark in a way it never seemed back at the institute. He was always so dusty-pale, half frozen over. He had always looked so cold.

Funny, then. Peter was talking, sounding some strange mix of regretful and uncaring. He was talking about plans, and bets, and ruined worlds. Elias and Jon- 

Jon. Jon. Oh, Martin couldn’t be here. Jon wasn’t here — he could feel it. And while the fog was soft, a gentle mist on a hot day, it was much too cold- He couldn’t stay here. Martin understood that it was empty, here, and if he stayed, he would be empty too. 

He was already more than a little hollow. It was a feeling deep inside, where his stomach should be, where his heart was. Light as a bird and twice as brittle, shivering in the off-white of nothing and everywhere, with the sound of passing cars and crashing waves letting him know just how huge the Lonely was. 

Martin couldn’t stay here. Peter was still talking. Such a shame, he said. Oh well, he said. His voice was all vapors, just like before, it was always a cloud of emptiness. But here, something about it struck Martin. 

The warmth of every breath. 

The shape of Peter, sturdy and dark. 

Martin took a step forward. 

Peter looked surprised, but not at all threatened. When Martin reached out to him, numb fingers catching on his shirt collar, Peter gave him a look that might have been genuine pity. 

There was no chance that Peter would let Martin go, of course. Martin could feel it in himself that he was full of fog, unless he did something to get it out, burn it out of his body like an infection. But his blood felt like nothing. Compared to the absolute cold of his skin, Peter’s breathe felt like fire. The flesh of his cheek, when Martin touched it, seemed feverish. 

Burn it out. 

If Peter left, Martin would be alone. He didn’t want to be alone — he _couldn’t_ be alone. Jon was not here. Jon would be alone, too, if Martin was gone. He already was… Martin could feel it, sometimes, could taste his friends when they wandered in the institute, aimless as the drifting fog. It tasted bittersweet and addictive and he’d hated it and even the memory of it was enough to inspire him; he wanted to taste something else. 

Peter’s cheek was pale and warm and he didn’t resist when Martin leaned forward, seeking, to kiss it. He chuckled, even. He put his hands on Martin’s waist — to pull him closer? to push him away? — and said, 

Martin opened his mouth, bore his teeth, and bit down. 

Peter was lukewarm savory sweet, then hot, hot, hot as Martin took what he needed. His hands were heavy and frantic on Martin’s body. His skin a grey film hiding the everything he was inside, easily torn away. Martin kissed his neck and could taste that Peter was afraid. His blood raced, overflowed, with his terror. His hands were on Martin’s chest, shoulders, hips, pulling him closer? pushing him away? Losing their grip. Martin took Peter’s hand in his own, bringing it to his lips. 

Every second that passed was warmer than the second before it. Every new moment was one where Martin felt more like himself, and more full than he’d been in a long, long time. His stomach rejoiced with the company. His heart sang in harmony with the beat of Peter’s, even as it squelched and struggled beneath Martin’s teeth. 

Eventually, Martin knew he was in his office. He could see the fog, still, slipping from Peter’s blue lips. Peter wasn’t warm anymore, but he still had something to give. Martin held him by the flesh that remained on his face and kissed him. Something damp and heavy slithered inside with the blood and the meat. 

Now that he was back on solid ground, Martin could remember what he had been doing, and what Peter had been saying in the Lonely. With a full stomach, he faced the fog, pulling it around him like a coat. He had someone to see. 

* * *

There was no one else in or near Elias’ cell. Martin made sure anyone who was close enough to overhear what was about to happen wandered off in a half-daze. When Martin slipped through the metal bars, Elias was alone. He was frowning. 

“I Know you’re there,” he said, but didn’t look at Martin directly. He seemed- distracted, concerned. It was an expression Martin had never once seen on Elias’ face. It was a shame he didn’t care enough to appreciate it, at least not now. The fog had left him cold again. He felt it settling in, making a home. A stray thought wandered through, asking him if he should be at all worried. Martin let it float by until it was distant and formless. He needed to focus. 

Martin let the fog slip from his shoulders, and Elias’ gaze was immediately upon him. The pressure of the Eye was as familiar as it was ineffective. He could feel it like the sun on closed eyelids, gently burning, trying to invade. If he let himself look back directly, the Eye could cut through his fresh veil of cold mist… Martin averted his gaze, settling it on Elias’ throat.

“Martin. What did you do?”

Then the tingling was inside, compelling him to speak. But it was weaker than it had been. Still, Martin saw no reason to lie. “I was in the Lonely,” he told Elias. “Peter was there. I needed to get out.” 

Elias’ eyes were such a violent green that Martin, for just a moment, remembered exactly what it felt like to be caught in them. He remembered every second of his time in those dark, void pupils. Then the hurt was smothered by fog and he let it struggle until it was quiet, until only vicious satisfaction was left. “What did you do to Peter?” Elias asked. 

“I was cold,” Martin told him. “And he was warm.” 

Elias was scowling. “Look at me.”

Martin let himself look, but he did not fall into Elias’ gaze, nor feel trapped by it. No, instead he felt… He felt something _tug_ , like there was an invisible string linking his eyes to Elias’. And all at once, Martin Knew what he should do. And he knew that Elias Knew, because Martin could taste it. Those pupils, once deep and endless dark, a tar pit of cruel knowledge, became mere pinpricks. The distant pocket a space where a star once lived. “Now, Martin-”

He’s afraid, Martin realized, walking closer. He’s trembling, Martin noticed, looming over him. Elias didn’t even try to run. Martin’s hands seemed very broad and strong when he took hold of Elias’ neck, cradling the man’s jaw, digging his nails in ever-so-gently. 

So this is what it’s like on the other side of things, Martin thought. It had been nearly the exact same, when Elias made him pay for burning statements. Martin had suffered through it, had been the one to invite the hurt in, because he knew it was what had to be done. It had been devastating, but he hadn’t regretted it, not until he’d heard what happened to Jon and Tim and the others. 

Martin knew, right now, that he would not enjoy this. It would be something to suffer through. He stared at the expanse of ancient green and knew it would be bitter in his mouth. But at least he only had to take one of them. 

**Author's Note:**

> might (might) be writing a much gayer, but equally bloody sequel to this at some point... who knows!
> 
> update: oh look! [it happened :)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27792490)


End file.
